Sleeping Dragons
by StabiloHB
Summary: It's St. George's Day and Simon falls asleep in assembly, clueless as usual.


**It was St. George's Day last week. It's miserable celebrated where I am, but I don't know about anyone else. I did some research, but apologies if I got anything wrong. (It didn't end up being a big part of the fic, anyway.) I also posted this on AO3 under the name Appletaile. **

* * *

Simon only realises that he is half-falling sleep when Baz pokes him in the arm. He jerks up at the movement, eyes darting wildly around the assembly hall, until they come to rest on Baz's smirking face. Simon immediately scowls at him. (His mood isn't helped by the snickering coming from the students seated around him.)

Some professor is still droning about extra study club or another just as boring event on the raised stage at the front. Simon finds himself tuning out straight away, but isn't sure how he actually managed to fall _asleep. _Assembly usually finishes just _before _he reaches that peak of boredom, not after.

And the professors show no signs of stopping. There are still several queued up on the stage to give even more boring notices, or whatever the hell they're doing. Simon glances up at the clock on the wall to his right. It's one of those annoyingly fancy ones with roman numerals and all that crap, but even Simon with his limited knowledge sees that assembly has _definitely _overrun. By a lot.

He nudges Baz with his elbow.

_What? _the other boy mouths, face set in a disapproving scowl.

Simon jerks his head in the direction of the clock, hoping Baz will understand. Baz _does _follow Simon's gaze, but he doesn't seem to understand because he turns back immediately with an even more irritated expression.

_Crowley, how hard is it to understand? _If Baz is going to wake Simon up from his naps, then he really needs to be more forthcoming in his information. Heaving a sigh, Simon fishes in his jacket pocket for his somewhat torn-up homework diary and a pencil. On finding both, he rips out a page from the diary (which he never uses anyway; who does?) and adjusts his grip on the pencil in preparation for writing.

Baz elbows him and gives him a questioning look. Simon just shakes his head and starts to write. _If he'd just hold on a second. Honestly. _But Baz being Baz, he has to lean over Simon's shoulder to watch Simon as he writes, in scribbled hand, _Why is it so late?_

When he reads the finished product, Baz rolls his eyes. He reaches to grab the pencil out of Simon's hand, but Simon swats it away and hands it to him instead. No physical contact required. (Ignoring the fact that Baz is all but sitting leant into him. That's different.)

Baz takes the pencil with a raised eyebrow and leans the paper on his knee. _St George's Day, _Baz writes. His handwriting looks even more impressive next to Simon's.

Simon stares at the words for full few seconds, willing them to make sense. They don't. He glances up at Baz and upturns his hands in a gesture of confusion.

But Baz just purses his lips and jerks his head towards the stage. Turning that way, Simon sees the rest of the hall standing up in a sort of Mexican wave. He whips the hymn book out from under the seat and does the same.

When the students around them start to mumble the tune, Baz leans into Simon's ear and hisses, "St. George is the patron saint of England, idiot."

Simon raises his brow – _say what? _"Yeah, but we don't _actually _celebrate St. George's Day," he whispers back. _Why have they started now?_ Simon reckons that would probably remember something like a double-barrel assembly.

Baz doesn't reply for a couple more lines of music, presumably because he spotted a teacher watching them or something. "He was a mage," he says, words fast and under his breath. "A dragon tamer. That's why they're making such a big deal of it."

Now that Baz mentions it, Simon _does _recall something a little like that. (He's pretty sure that the dragon got killed, though. Not tamed.) He nods his head, giving Baz a thumbs up. He winces internally. Baz's shoulders shake in bottled-up laughter.

_Idiot, _he mouths, but it's with a smile.

As they sit down at the end of the hymn that practically no one has been singing, Simon grins.


End file.
